Love and Sacrifice: Book Two of the Prophecy Series

by Tove Foss Ford

  Martine, the little mother you remember, is growing stronger and her baby is starting to thrive. We have found some tasks for Martine to do around the Temple and so far she proves diligent and trustworthy. If only we could provide employment for all of these tragic people. It turns out she is the daughter of a cobbler, who lost his shop when the King chose to have one of the Palaces enlarged. The family was cast out on the streets and in time, disease claimed both her parents and her husband, who was the journeyman in the business, leaving her to beg with the baby. Her story is told a million times in this country, in one form or another. You can know that your concern and that of your family saved this little mother and her baby from the fire.

  I would send you a wish that you might return to Fambré – but at this time, considering your position, that would be hazardous indeed. It is a tinderbox here and I fear it will be for a long while. Please write to me. I so look forward to your letters.

  Your friend always,

  Fahrin

  Katrin watched closely as Menders read the letter from Fahrin. She smiled when he laughed over the image of Fahrin racing down the street after the letter carrier.

  “Well, my little princess, it seems that has been smoothed over,” he said when he was done, handing the letter back to her.

  “Yes. The Dark Knight has made things right once again,” Katrin said, taking the letter and folding it away in her writing desk.

  “As you will remember, the Dark Knight didn’t always sort things out,” Menders told her. “In at least half the stories, the Princess solved the problem. Your favorite story was when the Princess tricked the evil wizard and freed the Dark Knight from a dungeon full of bones.”

  Katrin laughed aloud. “I did love that story. But I do appreciate you helping me with this, Papa. Do you really think Fahrin was in love with me?”

  “I think he was on his way.”

  “I didn’t realize it.”

  Menders smiled and helped her from her chair.

  “My dear, don’t rush your life,” he said. “Be friends with him. Enjoy what’s in front of you.”

  “What I want in front of me is a great big piece of cake. I’m ready to eat my shoes, as Willem would say.” Katrin smiled at him.

  “The Dark Knight can solve this problem,” Menders smiled back. “I know the perfect pastry shop.”

  Simeridon, Artreya

  23

  New ideas, good and bad

  “B

  ecause I no longer want to go to that philosophy class,” Borsen replied, keeping his voice even.

  “But Borsen, you don’t have to agree with all the philosophical theories,” Katrin protested. “The point is to be exposed to different ideas.”

  “There are some ideas I don’t care to be exposed to,” Borsen answered.

  Hemmett could sense one of Borsen and Katrin’s arguments in the air and decided to intervene.

  “Katrin, you have to admit that some of what was talked about in your class today was inflammatory,” he said, keeping his voice gentle.

  “Well, yes, it was,” she admitted. “I don’t agree with it. You know that! But the school of thought is out there. If we don’t know what is being written and said, how can we possibly fight it?”

  Borsen blinked in surprise.

  “I hadn’t thought of that, Cuz,” he said softly.

  They were sitting in the Three Elks Tavern, near the University of Simeridon, after Katrin and Borsen’s philosophy class. The day’s subject matter had rattled Borsen down to his pointed-toed, golden toe-capped, Samorsan shoes made from the skin of the viper he’d shot in the vineyard two years back.

  The class had discussed Hardin’s Philosophy of Racial Superiority. Borsen felt as if his chair was on fire as the students either avoided looking at him or stared at him as if he was growing a second head. By the time the issue of removing or exterminating “inferior races” to give “superior races” access to land and resources came up, he was ready to jump up and thump everyone in sight.

  “But you didn’t say anything against it in the discussion,” Hemmett said to Katrin.

  “I haven’t read it. We were out late at the opera and I fell asleep over the book. Hardin is dull as well as horrible. They would have routed me – I need to know what they’re talking about before just jumping into the discussion.”

  “I’m still not comfortable. It’s not only the topic, it’s the bastards we have to take classes with that I can’t stand. Spoiled brats, the lot of them, nothing like the people we had classes with in Surelia,” Borsen said.

  “I have to agree there,” Hemmett added.

  “I haven’t had any problem with them,” Katrin protested.

  “Try being tall and listening to their remarks about how thin the air I’m breathing is and how that affects my brain and makes me stupid. Oh, I’m laughing so hard over that one. See my smile,” Hemmett replied.

  “Well, it is an odd sense of humor and we aren’t used to it,” Katrin offered weakly.

  “It isn’t humor, it’s rudeness being explained away as humor,” Borsen snapped, cutting her off.

  “You both came to Artreya prepared to hate it,” Katrin’s voice grated with exasperation.

  “I haven’t been disappointed,” Hemmett answered.

  “Same here,” Borsen added.

  “Well I think you’re being very unappreciative of the opportunity that Menders has given you,” Katrin burst out, glaring at Borsen.

  For a moment there wasn’t a sound. Borsen knocked back the remains of his drink. Then he slowly turned toward Katrin.

  She was suddenly reminded of one of the few times she had displeased Tharak Karak, when she and his daughter, Thira, had gotten into some sort of mischief. When called to account, she tried to blame the entire incident on Thira. Now Borsen’s eyes held the same cold brown fire that had bloomed in Tharak’s. Katrin remembered how closely Tharak and Borsen were related.

  “I am always completely aware of everything my uncle has done for me,” he said, his voice quivering a bit with rage. “I am also completely aware of the fact that I have done a man’s work at The Shadows, for a wage, since I was thirteen years old. That work includes making what you’re wearing on your back this minute. Good day.” With that, Borsen stood gracefully, picked up his marble topped walking stick, put on his hat and walked briskly out of the tavern.

  Katrin turned to Hemmett, who was looking at her as if he found her very unattractive. She self-consciously ran her hand over the white furred cuff of her blue velvet jacket, which Borsen had made entirely by hand and given to her before they’d left for Surelia.

  “Nice one,” Hemmett said. “Why didn’t you just call him the poor orphan boy who lives on your charity?”

  “I didn’t mean it that way!”

  “Listen to me. You just pointed out to Borsen that he’s not properly appreciative of all that is given to him – and you pointed that out to me as well, because you were addressing both of us. For your information, Borsen has paid his way on this trip. Didn’t you know that? Well, there’s a nice surprise for you. He’s paid his passage himself, on every boat and train we’ve taken, to say nothing of his hotel rooms. Menders tried to get him to accept it all as a gift but Borsen said he wouldn’t come if he couldn’t pay his way. He pulls his own weight – more than pulls it. He works harder than anyone at The Shadows, with the exception of Menders.”

  “I know he does! It’s the grousing about being here that I meant. It’s a great opportunity to be here, for all three of us.”

  “Willow, we’re only here because you want to be,” Hemmett sighed. “Inchworm and I would have been more than glad to stay on in Samorsa for a while before going home, but you wanted to get here in time for the university term. So here we are, being insulted by a bunch of trumped up twits who think they’re superior to every other nation on the planet. We don’t need to be lectured like unappreciative boys who don’t like their Winterfest presents.”

  “Oh the
two of you and Samorsa!” Katrin protested.

  “I don’t have a compelling reason to want to be in Samorsa?”

  She couldn’t answer, mingled embarrassment and anger choking her. She drained the last of her glass of wine.

  Hemmett sighed. “Look, let’s see if we can catch up to Borsen. You can make up to him and we’ll go on somewhere else. This place is getting on my nerves.”

  “He’s already run home to tattle to Menders, you can be sure of that,” Katrin blurted. The far away murmur was sounding in her head.

  “This is pointless,” Hemmett declared briskly. “Borsen does not tattle. That is truly small and not worthy of you. Come on, let’s go.”

  Katrin heard the voices of the Queens growing louder, but she couldn’t make out the words. She felt like a wire was tightening around her head and raised her hands to her temples.

  “If I’m not mistaken it’s the charming Miss Emila?” The cultured voice came from behind her. Katrin turned and caught her breath a little.

  She was being addressed by Ermand Godson, the most handsome man in her philosophy classes.

  He was the hearthrob of the university, with all the girls desperate to gain his attentions. Tall and lean with reddish hair, he boasted a mellifluous voice and was incredibly learned. Whenever he spoke, the philosophy students clustered around as he outlined brilliant theories about changing society for the better. His ideas were so exciting! The girls in her classes would be fuming if they saw him talking to her now.

  The voices of the Queens faded to a distant hiss in her mind.

  “Good afternoon,” Katrin answered graciously, ignoring a soft farting noise Hemmett made with his mouth.

  “I see your diminutive – friend – has abandoned you?” the tall youth said.

  “He’s my cousin,” Katrin said.

  Hemmett glared at her. She had always introduced Hemmett and Borsen as her brothers, but at the moment she didn’t feel particularly sisterly toward Borsen. If Hemmett didn’t like the fact that she’d told the truth, he could just live with it.

  “Ah. How rude of him to simply walk away from you like that. Since his place is empty, may I take the liberty?”

  “Greasy git,” Hemmett whispered.

  “Please,” Katrin smiled. Ermand settled and signaled the waiter.

  “May I get you something?” he asked, smiling at her.

  “I’d like another glass of wine,” Katrin smiled back.

  Hemmett cleared his throat resoundingly. She knew he wanted to leave and didn’t want her talking to Ermand.

  “And this is?” Ermand asked, after he’d given the order, indicating Hemmett.

  “My bodyguard,” Katrin said evenly, ignoring the way Hemmett began to glower, not caring.

  “Oh, a servant,” Ermand responded, nodding dismissively.

  Hemmett stood and moved deliberately to a table nearby, taking out his pistol and setting it in plain sight. His actions said to Katrin ‘call me your bodyguard, and bodyguard I will be, for everyone to see.’

  She ignored him.

  ***

  Menders settled into his chair again and picked up the book he’d been trying to read for hours.

  The afternoon had been fragmented, with Borsen coming in, pale to the lips, his spine as rigid as a flagpole. He’d asked for a glass of kirz.

  Menders got it for him, poured one for himself and then got a story out of him that caused considerable concern.

  Menders was aware Katrin had become involved in a crowd at the University that was not what he would consider ideal. He knew she was elated because people were making friends with her, not with her title and position – but she didn’t have the experience to know these friends were not real ones. Traveling for so long was meant to give her experience she couldn’t otherwise aquire. Sadly, experience couldn’t always be entirely positive.

  “Uncle, I’m really thinking of going back to The Shadows – and not just because of today,” Borsen had said. “It isn’t just what Katrin said. You know I’d never run home because of something like that. I really don’t like Artreya and I want to get back to work. If I was accomplishing anything here, I wouldn’t mind staying, but I feel as if I’m wasting my time.”

  It had taken some convincing and suggestions of ways Borsen could better occupy his time in Artreya to turn his mind from the hurt that Katrin had inflicted. Borsen agreed to give his options some thought and went to visit Kaymar, who had been confined to bed with a nasty case of bronchitis for two weeks. Unfortunately, Ifor was away at the deathbed of his mother. Since Ifor was a tempering influence on Kaymar and his incipient madness, the illness was taking a terrible toll on Menders’ second. Any distraction was welcome. A visit from Borsen would be a benison.

  Just as Menders was settling down with his book again, the door opened as only an angry Hemmett could open it, making as much noise as a doorslam. Hemmett bowed exaggeratedly as he gestured for Katrin to proceed him. She flounced in and banged her pile of books down on the sideboard. Menders groaned and sat up again, putting his book aside.

  “I wish you would stop it!” Katrin declared.

  “Your servant, Your Highness,” Hemmett growled.

  “Hemmett, I wasn’t the one who said that!”

  “I didn’t see you defending your humble servant, Your Highness.”

  “I didn’t want to make a scene! You were doing more than enough of that.”

  “Your servant begs your pardon, Your Very Most Highness,” Hemmett snapped, flinging his coat on the rack and smacking his hat down in a way that would have horrified Borsen.

  “What the hells is going on?” Menders said wearily.

  “Would you people be quiet! Kaymar just went to sleep!” Borsen hissed, coming in and glaring at them.

  Katrin immediately looked guilty. Hemmett, his voice shaking with rage, said, “I have been identified as Katrin’s bodyguard and servant to one of her Artreyan friends. It’s five o’clock and I’m off duty, so this humble servant is going to his room.”

  “You didn’t!” Borsen gasped, staring at Katrin.

  “I said he was my bodyguard. I never said he was my servant,” Katrin cried passionately.

  “You certainly didn’t correct him when he said that I was,” Hemmett flung at her.

  “Bitch,” Borsen snarled, staring at Katrin with revulsion.

  “All right,” Menders interjected quietly, breaking the three-way standoff. “This isn’t going any further. Hemmett, Borsen, please go and cool off for a while. Hemmett, let me apologize for anything insulting that was said to you by anyone. You are not, never have been and never will be a servant in this household, as everyone in this room knows. Borsen, I’ve already talked to you and everything I said remains in force. Go on now, my sons, please.”

  Borsen and Katrin were still glaring and bristling at each other. The stalemate was broken when Borsen suddenly and forcefully brushed one hand against the other, making the Thrun gesture indicating something or someone was worth no more than dust to be brushed away.

  Katrin went pale. Borsen turned without a word and went down the hallway to his room. He was followed by Hemmett.

  Menders waited. Silence would get Katrin talking. If he began firing angry questions, she would refuse to speak and nothing short of a beating would force words out of her – and he certainly was not about to administer a beating. As it was, he could see she was trembling over Borsen’s silent appraisal.

  “I notice you didn’t say anything to Borsen about calling me a bitch,” she finally burst out.

  “Mainly because he voiced my own sentiments,” Menders answered dryly. Katrin gasped, and stared at him.

  “Can you think of a better way to describe someone who would deliberately allow Hemmett to be identified as a servant?” Menders continued. “Did you actually tell someone he is your bodyguard?”

  Katrin couldn’t answer. Menders shook his head.

  “After all the things he’s been to you,” he said softly. “B
rother, friend, playmate, confidant. On top of that, it’s always been agreed that as part of your security, he would not be publicly identified as a guard, so you’ve been stupid and impulsive as well as rude and unappreciative of all Hemmett does for you. Though I will ask Borsen not to use such language to you again, I certainly understand why he said it. I am incredibly disappointed in you.”

  “I… I didn’t mean what I said to Borsen to come out like it did,” she sputtered. “And then I was so angry that when someone I knew came over to the table and asked who Hemmett was, I said he was my bodyguard.”

  “And you didn’t correct this person when he identified Hemmett as a servant.”

  Katrin went stubbornly mute. Menders nodded.

  “Then I entirely understand their anger,” he said. “You’ve hurt them both very deeply.”

  “I’m not very happy with the way they keep on complaining about being here,” Katrin mumbled.

  “I understand that. I’ve already spoken to Borsen and I will speak to Hemmett. Borsen has promised to stop. Hemmett will do the same.

  “Now, let me remind you, young woman, that when you take a slam at Borsen and Hemmett, they are unable to strike back because of your station. It is vastly unfair of you to do such things. It’s time you learned to control that high-handedness of yours, Katrin, princess or not.”

  She stared at the floor.

  “Now, you’ve put me in a quandary. Hemmett has done far more guard duty with you than he is rostered on for, and since Kaymar has become so ill, he has been taking care of all of your personal security. On a soldier’s pay, this is a great deal of work for very little recompense. Of course Hemmett does it because he cares for you and likes to be with you as a companion. He was right when he said he’s off duty now. Because of this and because of his liaison with Luntigré and his responsibilities there, he should begin to take his off-duty time.